Young Adult
by counterpunch
Summary: Inspired by the film Young Adult. In which Mavis is Quinn. What if nothing changed for her? What if there was no glee club?
1. Chapter 1

It wasn't the email, it was the address.

She couldn't have given two shits about the baby in the photograph or the two of them smiling back at the camera holding their bundle of fucking joy.

All that mattered was that he sent it.

In that moment, Quinn knew she'd tasted forever and let it go. It was time to go get it back.

Ignoring the messages from her boss about passing deadlines and the snoring body on her bed (was it Mark? or Michael, she didn't remember) she threw some clothes into a bag and grabbed a Coke from the fridge before closing the door behind her.

It was a little less than five hours from Chicago to Lima- four if she pushed it (and she always did).

Just the sight of the "Welcome to Ohio" sign was enough to make her sick, but she knew she'd do anything to get him back. Swallowing the bile in her throat, she put in the CD from their Prom and let the memories soothe her.

_The crown was theirs and everything was perfect. They smiled. They were beautiful. They were everything they were supposed to be. The weight of the crown was comforting, it anchored her to the dance floor as the spotlight shone on just them, dancing, dancing, dancing. _

She hadn't listened to the CD in six years. Not counting that one time when she drank a fifth of vodka after Paul dumped her. No, she didn't count that because she didn't feel anything.

But _this_, what her and Finn had, this was real. He just didn't realize it yet. He just forgot.

The two liter bottle next to her was empty and she had to pull over at a rest stop to pee.

She hated rest stops, they made everyone seem like a vagrant. She hated the sideways glares she got walking up to the building in her Uggs and baggy sweats. Who were they to look at her like that? She was Quinn fucking Fabray, cheerleader, Prom Queen and successful writer. She left this hick state behind and drove a mini Cooper, for crying out loud. Those tired moms with their bratty kids and useless husbands can get back into their minivan and drive to soccer practice. What did they know.

It was dark by the time she pulled into the Holiday Inn, but waited for the song to finish before cutting the engine and heading inside.

The lobby was dim, the carpets worn, and everything smelled vaguely like cigarettes. The girl behind the counter looked like she'd rather be skinning a cat than be there. She couldn't have been more than what, 16? 17? Quinn smirked.

The girl, slouched in her seat texting, jumped at Quinn's purse slapping down on the counter.

"I'd like a room, please. Smoking," she says, sliding her credit card across the wood veneer.

Wordlessly taking the card, the girl (Danielle, her namecard says) clicks a few buttons and slides the credit card and room key back over.

"Room 304. Left out of the lobby, elevators will be on your right, you can't miss it."

Danielle's eye makeup is uneven. Quinn judges her. "Thanks," she says.

By the time she dumps her bag in the room and finishes checking her email (which includes shopping the sales online), it's only 7:30. Already she feels like crawling up a wall. This feeling won't do, so she pulls a silky shirt and tight black pants out of her bag, lays them on the bed and takes a shower. An hour and a half later, she parks outside Mulligans, the bar they used to go to during breaks at school.

While the phone rings, she fluffs her hair with her left hand.

"Hello?"

Quinn smiles instantly. "Hey, Finn, it's me!"

"Quinn?"

"Yeah, I'm in town for a few days to take care of some real estate and thought maybe we could get together?"

There's only the slightest fraction of a pause before he answers, "Yeah sure, that'd be great."

_It's already coming together. _

"Great! Want to meet at, say, Mulligans at 9?"

There's a grunt and some fumbling on the line, "Sorry, Quinn, I'd like to but can't really do spur-of-the-moment things anymore. Being a Dad and all... I've gotta get a bottle ready for Amy, so tonight isn't really great. What about tomorrow. There's this place, Sportscasters off Findlay. They've got great nachos. How about six?"

Quinn rolls her eyes. Nachos are on her "do not eat" list, with all the fat and salt in them. Instead she smiles, even though he can't see. "Sure, that sounds great."

"Awesome. Okay see you then, Q."

She hangs up. Her mood is shot. She's pissed, but it'd be stupid to waste the outfit. She needs a drink anyway, so heads into Mulligans and flags the bartender.

"Jack, straight up, and a vodka tonic, please," she says, hanging her jacket on the back of the stool. The bar is mostly empty, a small party lingers in the back nursing a set of beers and a plate of fries. Quinn absentmindedly watches the game that plays on the TV behind the counter, downs the Jack and nurses the vodka tonic. A plate of cut cucumbers and grilled vegetables slides down the bar and clinks against her glass.

"Hey, watch it," she snaps.

The woman with the offending plate swivels in her stool. "Well I'll be damned."

She smiles, cocks her head and holds out her hand. "Quinn Fabray, Rachel Berry. I believe we went to high school together."

_Ugh._


	2. Chapter 2

The last thing she wants to do after hanging up on her failed evening with Finn, is have a conversation with this girl.

She tries- she _really_ tries to ignore Rachel entirely, the way she used to be able to in high school. But this girl discounts Quinn's tone and "fuck off" demeanor to an extent she'd never seen before. When Quinn wants to be left _alone_, she gets left alone. Her expressions have been known to make testicles shrivel on occasion.

"Uh huh."

"Rachel Berry? We didn't exactly run in the same circles, but my locker was just a few down from yours."

Of all people in the universe to be in this bar, why her? Someone must be out to get her, because Quinn doesn't deserve this. These aren't the high school memories she wanted to return to. "I remember who you are, RuPaul," she sneers as she takes another sip of the vodka tonic.

Rachel barely flinches, but it's there all the same, and Quinn decides to twist a little further. Her evening may have gone to hell, but it doesn't mean she can't still get something out of it. "That still gets at you, huh," she says, grinning.

Rachel stiffens. "I'm not sixteen anymore, Quinn, but the reminder was a little jarring." Rachel nibbles at a red pepper. "What brings you back to Lima? Last I heard, you were making it in Chicago."

She can't help the cross between disgust and curiosity that shows on her face. "How do you know what_ I'm_ doing."

Rachel shrugs. "In a post-Facebook age, it's not difficult to see where people have gone."

She pops the rest of the pepper into her mouth. "Also, Noah tends to fill in the gaps."

This time, Quinn can't help the genuine surprise from preventing eyebrows arching to her hairline. "Noah. Noah _Puckerman? _How the hell are _you_ friends with _him," _she asks incredulously.

Rachel smiles sadly and for some reason it irritates Quinn more than anything. "That answers my other question."

"Which is?"

"You haven't changed one bit."


	3. Chapter 3

By flirting with the bartender, Quinn managed to score a bottle of Jimmy Beam, which is mostly empty by the time she pries off her pants and falls into bed. The hotel duvet smells stale and is rough against her cheek, but she's too drunk to care enough to move.

Everything is humming slightly; even her lips are numb. There's a hollow feeling in her chest that even the whiskey couldn't mask. She hates it.

Just like she hates Rachel Berry. But she hates everything mostly, so to be fair, tonight she took her anger out more on the bottle than the girl sitting next to her.

There wasn't even much of an opportunity for Rachel to bear the brunt of it. Quinn found the longer she sat at the bar, the less she could actually stand to be there. Something about the proximity of Rachel to Finn, even if by accident, made her teeth grind. Despite wanting to fuck with her last night, something felt off and Quinn turned to booze for answers she didn't want to be asking.

Her jaw hurts now, so she tries to ignore the pulsing in her temples and succumbs to darkness on the crappy duvet.

When she wakes up, it's past noon and the crik in her neck hurts to the point where she doesn't know if she's able to lift it. She discovers she can't, and compromises by sliding down on the bed her stomach until she's crouching and gravity helps her gently lean upright against the wall.

She wipes the drool off her cheek and lets herself sit there for another few minutes until the urge to relieve the pressure in her bladder becomes too strong.

Once she's standing, Quinn knows whats missing from her life right now and goes to the gas station thats next to the hotel. Four bucks and fifteen minutes later, she's at the computer with a new 2 liter bottle of Diet Coke and pack of peanut butter crackers that glow orange in the room, even without the lights on.

After spending the better part of the next hour catching up on emails (nothing of value, only the daily deals and a mass email from her mother containing photos from her latest cruise) and checking the clearance section on her favorite shopping websites, there's a brief moment of hesitation when her finger hovers over the mousepad before she changes to a Facebook tab she's had open since stumbling back to the room last night.

Quinn sneers at the photos of Rachel beaming beneath marquees in New York, arms spread open as if the world were hers. As if she were still 18 and full of fucking sunshine. How dare she be so happy.

It's like staring at a car wreck; she's cringing at the photos and comments, wall posts, and events, but can't for the life of her turn away. It bothers her, seeing Rachel's life, her having gotten it all, despite everything: despite having been nothing in high school when Quinn had everything.

The resolve inside her doubles suddenly and if Quinn had any doubts about her plan of action before, they evaporate quickly. She slams the laptop shut harder than she probably should and starts getting ready.

Finn will be hers and everything will go back to being the way it should be.


End file.
